


Always a Kid

by RisingAnarchy



Series: Stuck in Traffic [2]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Tony Stark, Depressed Peter Parker, Depression, Domestic Avengers, Drug Use, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Peter Parker Angst, Peter Parker Has Issues, Peter Parker Has a Family, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Peter Parker is a Mess, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Recovery, References to Depression, Sad, Sad Peter Parker, Suicidal Peter Parker, Suicidal Thoughts, Teen Peter Parker, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:20:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22323208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RisingAnarchy/pseuds/RisingAnarchy
Summary: The following weeks are too difficult to describe. The air feels thinner- colder. The ground is harder to walk on, and his legs shake in fear that he may just fall through the earth and eventually plummet back into the bed, as if this was all just a fever dream. School is harder than it appeared on the surface, especially when everyone from the principal to the puniest of freshmen know about what happened to the smartest kid at school.Peter gets questioned about how he is, but there is no answer.Edit 3/28/2020: This story will be discontinued until further noticed! For more information, check out the author’s note in chapter 5. Keep in mind I might pick it up again in the future. I also changed my username as my original one was based off my fandoms at the time, but isn’t they are changing, I decided to change as well!
Relationships: Bruce Banner & Peter Parker, Happy Hogan & Peter Parker, Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Pepper Potts & Tony Stark, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Avengers Team, Peter Parker & James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Peter Parker & Natasha Romanov, Peter Parker & Original Male Character(s), Peter Parker & Pepper Potts, Peter Parker & Thor, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Tony Stark & Avengers Team
Series: Stuck in Traffic [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1610896
Comments: 31
Kudos: 118





	1. Whack-A-Mole

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who’s back... back again... it’s me. I’m pretty sure I used that on my last story! Lol. I’m so glad to be back writing, it’s been a long time. I’ve missed all of your so much! This story will pretty m uh be about the months following Peter’s return. I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Warnings:  
> -Mentions of Self-Harm  
> -Mentions of Drug Use

"Alright, Mister Parker-"

"Stark. It's Mister Stark."

"Ah, yes. Ehm- I'm sorry, Peter. It doesn't appear to say that in your files."

Peter makes a face at that, features all scrunched up and contorted in a way that made the lady- the interrogator- nervous. In fact, if he looked close enough, the boy can see the slight tremor in her hands as she scribbled down on her weathered clipboard. He reprimands himself for being a hypocrite, as he hasn't stopped shaking for a long while now, and he could only wish it were only his hands suffering.

He feels Tony nudge him, a touch that would normally feel fond. But Peter knows it's a warning.

_Be nice._

It's almost impossible to do so. The lady had over-lined lips, eyeshadow so dark and dreary it made her eyes look small and monster-like, and her nails hurt his ears as they scratched along the wooden clipboard. Instead of voicing these concerns, as he was instructed to do, kept his mouth silent.

"Are his adoption papers not on file?" Tony asks, suddenly well aware that something like this (important files gone MIA) should have been rectified a long time ago. "They were signed awhile ago and his name has already been updated in the school system. So, why the confusion?"

The woman, wrinkles and all smiles apologetically and slightly smears her red lipstick to the outer corners of her nonexistent lips.

"They're here, I just-... sometimes children prefer to go by their original name. Especially when the adoption is recent."

So she lied, Peter thought quietly.

"His name is Peter Stark."

“Of course, sir," She chuckled nervously. "Now, let's get on with this. This should only be, oh, I don't know, ten minutes? Just some simple questions and you'll be out of here in a jiffy. Sound good, hun?"

"Yes, ma'am," Peter heeds his father's warnings and descends into reserved politeness.

The lawyer, who Peter hadn't bothered to learn the name of, cleared her throat and sent a smile toward the two males. Tony sent her a similar, awkward smirk and rubbed his hands against his thighs. The boy could practically see the sweat on Tony's hands. The room they resigned in was large, spacious and homey. It was furnished with expensive mahogany desks and bookcases, cushioned seats and a sparkly, nude calendar littered with all the boring things one might assume a lawyer does. While Tony had taken the time to put himself together, wearing a nice suit and gelled back hair, Peter couldn't find it in himself to match his father's aesthetic. Luckily, he at least changed from his sweats, showered and wore jeans for the first time in what seemed like years.

Tony has arranged the meeting without Peter's knowledge. To say the boy was pissed would be an understatement.

The argument lasted through the night and not even Pepper, the mediator, could cool their jets. Tony hadn't exactly been... intelligent in his word choices. And Peter, well, Peter just couldn't give a care to worry about how the man felt.

Hence the reason Peter refused to sit too close to his father.

"Alrighty then, Mister Stark," The woman said quietly, humming to herself as if she had compelled an impossible feet. "These are just a standard set of questions I'll be asking you, okay? Many are simply yes and no, but verbal responses would be appreciated and would help this move along. I was informed you refused to answer these to a doctor, so, hopefully, you'll find it more comfortable here."

Peter doesn't think he will, despite the obvious warmness of the room.

The lady wasn't half bad, if a bit shred and anxious, but he believed if he wanted anyone asking the questions, it would be a stranger. It's easier telling a stranger what occurred, then someone close, who has to look at you nearly every day after that. And deep down, they know what happened, but thinking about it makes it a hell of a lot worse. Strangers forget things.

Peter has seen many different strategies to knowing why strangers forget things.

"Okay," He whispered, leaning away when Tony tried to touch his shoulder. "I'm ready when you are... ma'am."

The lawyer smiled and cleared her throat.

"Well then, let's start with something easy, shall we?" Peter nodded and ignored the worried, scarce glances his father sent his way. The boy felt as if he'd told the story so many times, it barely even phased him anymore. "Do you know the name of the man who kidnapped you on the night of your father's charity gala?"

“Desmond- something. I didn't get his last name. Or maybe I did, I don't remember. He told me his name was Patrick."

"And once you were taken, he brought you..?"

“I guess it was his house. There was a basement and everything, but he had to have been on the bottom floor if it was an apartment. A man came in I think the next day. That was Ray."

The woman wrote something down with her dull pen and tapped her chin thoughtfully. She didn't seem phased whatsoever by the fact that she was talking to a victim of what Peter dubbed the worst kind of abuse- not that he rendered any abuse better than the other. Tony was always squeamish when hearing the retelling of the story, any parent would be. Sometimes, he ever cried at hearing what occurred in that dreaded Room 210. Today, however, he seemed to be drowning out the horrible reenactment and held himself together relatively well.

“You're doing well, Peter. May I call you that? Or do you prefer Mister Stark?"

"Peter's fine," Anything was better than 'sir' or 'mister.'

"Great. Now, what was the trip to the motel like?"

Peter told her about the stop at the run-down gas station, the man who took his virginity against his will. He told her about the re-setting of his bones and the call at the rest stop. The woman merely nodded and muttered for him to continue when he came to a stopping point. Tony listened intently to this part, always entrapped by the horrible feeling that it was his fault his boy was ever put in a situation like this.

After all, Peter was technically Tony Stark's son.

And like the boy said, that earned him more attention. Maybe it wouldn't have stopped the rape altogether, but perhaps it wouldn't have happened as much.

Tony didn't understand how Peter could even look him in the eyes anymore.

Peter got the chills.

"Are you aware of what Desmond did to the bartender you had talked to?"

"Yes."

"How many people visited you per day while you were held captive?"

Peter had to think long and hard about this. He assumed it was merely only three a day or so, but there were times when he was so drugged up, he couldn't remember. Sometimes he'd wake up from passing out with the weight of another human baring down on his chest. Soon, three people became four, then five and so on and so forth.

"I'm not sure. A lot."

"Were you raped every time?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry to ask you, but it is the procedure, and you’re objection to a rape kit made Thai completely and utterly mandatory. Do you swear that all sexual activity that you've described was non-consensual? If so, is there proof? Are you positive it was rape?”

The same questions. Day in and day out.

Peter grips the course fabric of the chair and relaxes into the cushion as much as he can. It's difficult when he can tell Tony's eyes and baring into him without even looking over. It feels like dirt beneath his fingertips. The words bounce around his head and he thinks back to the three other lawyers Peter has turned down. The fourth one- this lady- was a considerable candidate, until this question arose. That's all he was waiting from.

The simple question he had been asked so many times before.

Over and over again it ricashayed around and through his ears and around the room and back. 

_Are you positive you were raped?_

None of them say it right. It doesn't feel right against their tongues. 

They leave. 

Tony is considerably pissed, but in Stark fashion, he remains quiet and simply drives. He preferred to drive now over having Happy do so. It felt safer in away. 

It was silent as the car steadily went ran along the smooth path. Tony sat with his eyes locked onto the road ahead, hand over his mouth as he rest his elbow on the inside of the door. Peter sat in the passenger's side, eyes glassy and dull, like a baby doll's. He feels as if he'll cry, but a voice inside his head tells him that he's done crying. There are absolutely no more tears to let loose anymore. They've all fallen and now he has nothing. 

He's had nothing for what felt like forever. 

In school, he no longer has his privacy. Every day during fourth period, a small woman with thin wire glasses, polka-dotted dresses and at least a five-inch stack of paperwork walks in and asks to see him. Of course, the whole class from the overachievers in the front to the stoners in the back look at him. Their eyes hold something undesirable. Pity, sympathy, and low and behold, empathy.

The woman- cleverly name Miss Feel- is short and stout, with plump pink lips and doubled pierced ears. 

She and Peter walk around the campus, or they sit in her office for the next hour. It all depends on the day. She may offer advice, or off-campus options for therapy or service animals, and even Peter's least favorite option. A thing he likes to call 'Drug Homes' where people who are addicted to drugs go to get better. He always says he was no longer addicted to the substances, but Tony makes it clear he can smell it on him.

Most prominent is the smoke.

Pepper or Tony (whoever found them first) always ended up throwing away a pack of cigarettes at least twice a week. They had tried everything from taking his money to having a bodyguard by him 24/7 and nothing had worked. He still, somehow, ended up smoking at least half the carton before they were discarded.

Peter likes to blame it on Ray and the many nights they spent smoking away their conjoined pain. 

He remembers many lonely nights when what seemed to be his last customer for awhile would leave and the older man would come back from wherever the hell he went with a bag of goodies. Things from strong, cheap alcohol to brand new brands of cigarettes to try always found their way to Peter's mouth. 

The teen likes to think that Ray was lonely.

Maybe he had no family, no friends, and all he had was Peter from now on. Whatever deal they had going on that had him moving to Chicago was long forgotten about once his colleagues were busted. It was only a matter of time before the whole string was uncovered and all those children (and even adults) could finally go home. That night, when Ray received that call, he laid next to Peter and touched himself. When the teen cried, it had no effect.

"Of course this fucking happens to me- shit! Stuck with you. Fucking whore. Just wait, one of these days I'll come back and you'll be fucked raw and dead. Hopefully."

And still, Peter got his first taste of cigarette and a rough hair petting session.

The boy, whose legs were tucked right under his chin in fear that a hand might pop out and grab a hold of him, glanced over at his father. It was frightening to see the bags under his eyes, his exhausted expression.

It was horrible to know that he had caused all this.

All because he was too naive.

"I'm sorry," Peter whispered softly into his jean-clad legs, eyes closed in fear of Tony having yet another outburst. He seemed to be having many of those recently. The soft, warm man who helped his son through the first three weeks of his return had been replaced with a father who was too fatigued to worry about his business, family, and delusional failure of a son.

"I'm sorry too," For a moment, Peter perks up. "I'm sorry to Pepper, who has to once again find another counselor or lawyer or whatever the hell you want. And I'm sorry to my business, which hasn't made a single buck in weeks. And- fuck it- I'm sorry to my bank for having to write me long-ass emails about how I'm spending more money than I'm making on a person who can't figure himself out!"

Peter hates when he yelled.

It felt like the ground was shaking. The picture-perfect scene the boy was trying to rebuild into serenity in fear it may be torn down for the last time, had been demolished. He tries to build it again, but undoubtedly it will simply be torn down by someone or something he cannot control despite the overwhelming want to do so. So, as his life falls apart at the seams, it appeared as though Tony's had already been ripped to shreds.

The boy wishes, late at night when no one was around he read his mind, that he was back at the motel.

There, he didn't have to worry about much. 

Peter never hurt anybody there. In fact, he didn't even have to hurt himself at the motel to feel something- it was all done for him. And unlike the life he returned too, there was no need to bleed to remind himself that he was living when the people that came to him were practically born to inflict pain. In his own home, around the comfort and safety of his family and friends, he has to hurt himself. And along with that, he must carry the guilt of dressing in oversized clothing to mask his scars and protruding bones. 

Lately, he's been acting careless. 

Using the knife in the kitchen, when Pepper was in the room over. Testing Jarvis' shower rule to see how far he could go under boiling and freezing temperatures stark naked, as he was used to.

Nobody noticed, at that's all that mattered in the grand scheme of things.

"I can try harder. I won't be picky anymore," The boy whimpered out, oblivious to the look his father had sent him. An unspoken apology Peter would pretend to accept. Deep down, they simply kept building up. "I don't care who you pick anymore."

"No, it's fine. It-It's whatever. We'll find someone, alright, kid?"

Peter nodded frantically.

Always answer questions ASAP. People don't like to wait. 

"I want to go home."

"That's where we're going, hun," Tony sighs into his hand and Peter can't help but think the source of his despondency is because of all the stupid things he said last night. Accusing him of being unsupportive and cruel. He even remembers letting a comment slip about how similarly Tony acted to Ray, though it wasn't as straightforward. "Pepper's ordering dinner so... what do you want, babe?"

The idea of food settling in his stomach made his insides churn with unease.

He still wasn't used to eating. 

"I don't care."

The rest of the ride was silent, just as Peter liked it. The atmosphere wasn't unlike the brief moments of solitude he shared at the motel. When I'm between clients, there would be no noise aside from the handcuffs rattling against the bed frame, or the ever-pouring rain hitting the closed window. Those little pieces of bliss were looked back upon fondly. 

And while he appreciated the break in the overwhelming nothingness, he still sought comfort in darkness, quiet and solitude. 

That did not mean he wouldn't spend the rest of the night cuddling with his father on the couch.

Every night ended like that. Even on the school nights, when he was ordered to be asleep by ten, he'd always find his way back into Tony's awaiting arms. Whether it be at three in the morning, when the man chose to eat dry cereal while watching his favorite crime show, or in the older man's room, where he slept not so soundly. Laying in his bed on his back, Peter can't force himself to roll on his side, as he hasn't been able to for months. He was afraid that one day, one of the more violent clients would walk through his bedroom door, merely a silhouette as he forced their faces into the depths of his mind, and stalk towards him. Peter wouldn't know it if was a male of a female- it wouldn't matter. The person would be larger than him, and stronger too. They'd take long yet slow steps towards him, hands hovering over the small boy's body once they made it to the prey. And slowly, their hands would lower, rough skin against Peter's pliable, soft torso. They'd travel lower and lower and lower...

So, Peter walks to Tony and Pepper's shared bedroom, pillow in hand and squeezes between the two. 

The man would turn over, barely awake, and mutter a quiet greeting as he wrapped his tan arms around the pale mass of chicken bones and paper-thin skin. While the touch on his hip reminded him of many horrible things it felt better when it was simply his father's hand. Peter, despite his better judgment, would scoot closer into Tony's warm arms and snuggle his face deep into the man's neck. And occasionally, he'd left a few small tears moisten the man's neck. When he asks what's wrong, why he was crying, Peter would explain how afraid he was being sent back into the hell hole for being a nuisance. 

Tony reassures him that there was nothing Peter could ever do to make him send his son back. 

That doesn't lessen his fears much. 

"How has school be going?" Tony cleared his throat awkwardly in a family attempt to strike up conversation. Because even if Peter embraces the quiet, Tony absolutely despised it. It was quirky when his son was gone, and sometimes the silence recalled his loneliness and helplessness. 

Peter blinks.

It's so routine it hurts.

"It's been good," The boy stares out the window at the passing cars and frowned at a passing homeless man. Not the same homeless man- but similar, as all homeless men usually are. This time, there is no dog loyalty following. "Miss Feel says I've been doing good."

Tony scoffs in true Stark fashion and Peter flinches away from the harsh sound.

“Is she blind?" The man roughly presses the gas to swerve in front of a rather slow car housing an old woman arguing with her daughter. Peter doesn't spend much time looking through the window at the small family and instead smiled at his father's comment. It's true; the woman didn't seem to know much about Peter. He wasn't getting better. "I-I didn't mean it that way, Pete. You know I just-"

"I know, dad. I know. I'm not stupid and it's my fault anyway. I haven't been trying hard enough to get any better and that's all on me. I should be apologizing, not you."

“You have nothing to be sorry about, Bambi. You haven't done anything wrong."

Peter sniffed quietly. "I haven't done much of anything."

Tony chooses not to answer and instead thinks about dinner and what he's going to eat. Then, he thinks about what Pepper will eat, and what she'll critique about the food this time. Lastly, he thinks about what Peter will choose to eat, and how much or if he'll even eat at all. Food had been a struggle recently, as well as drinking water. Fluids seemed to be a rather triggering subject for the small boy.

They arrived at the tower twenty minutes shy of Peter's unscheduled breakdown.

Three times a week, at least. Usually more. 

As usual, once Peter was inside the safest place he had ever lived, a sudden dreariness overtook him. He retreated to his room, stating he'd be down once dinner arrives, and shut his door as silent as he could. The energy he had acquired that day from the two cups of black coffee he practically inhaled left his body in a matter of milliseconds. He consults even make it to his bed. The boy slid down the door, hand coming to cup at his mouth to smother the incoming sobs. 

The dirt came back.

He thought it was gone- it had been for the past few days- but just like that, it was back with a vengeance. Peter thought about taking a shower, but the image of his naked boy, emaciated and pale, littered with scars was too much to handle. Nail marks, bell loops, handprints, cigarette burns, torn backside, lacerations that refused to fade, razor slits. 

How dead could he possibly look?

How was he not dead? 

Why couldn't he be dead?


	2. Peer Counseling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Ned’s eyes turned dark and dreary, Tony’s jokes got further and further apart, and Michelle went out of her way to ignore him... Peter knee there was something wrong (and that it was his fault). With only one way to fix the fact that his life was falling apart, he decides to do what he swore he wouldn’t. 
> 
> He’d pretend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took forever to come out but... thank you so much for all the reads so far!
> 
> Warnings:  
> -Graphic Mention of Self-Harm  
> -Mentions of Rape/Sexual Assault  
> -Derogatory Langauge
> 
> Enjoy!

“ _Be an active listener! Good listeners listen fully with the intent to understand the speakers perspective. Here are some tips to accomplish this: focus on their face, don't be distracted by objects in your hands or your phone, and avoid interrupting (no matter how hard it seems)."_

Peer Counseling has been both the best and worst online course Peter had ever taken.

It was like free therapy, except you get graded on your emotions and how you deal with them. And despite how cliche it seemed, their techniques to handle stress worked more often than not. Even the captions that appeared over the images when you hovered your mouse over them never failed to make him laugh.

But now Ned is staring at him.

The second to last page of Module Three sits in front of the teen, and Peter vaguely remembers that they had promised to take on the class together months ago. Before everything.

” _When a friend or family member is at risk of hurting themself or others it is mandatory that you tell a trusted adult." "School counselors are always available to aid those who are struggling, so never hesitate to report." "Don't assume, but always take into consideration the consequences of not reporting."_

And Ned is looking at him as if he weren't even there.

Staring _through_ him.

Peter is sweating so profusely, it almost burns. In that memory, Peer Counseling's stress-relieving techniques to do not work. He can't breathe. His most useful technique, 'phone a friend' is totally backfiring in his face, like a confetti canon gone haywire. More like a fiery bomb.

“Do I need to tell someone?" 

Ned's voice echoes through his head like a megaphone through an empty shopping mall and once again, the deprived boy's mind shifts to more important things. Like how the sun burned his eyes today, but he hadn't seen the sun in so long that he stared into it until someone had to physically drag his head away. Or how his cereal this morning was too soggy that it began to disintegrate into microscopic grains.

Peter looks around the empty library.

He looks at the time; it's nearly four in the afternoon. He knew agreeing to work on heir online class after school was a bad idea.

Lastly, he looks at his arm, held tightly in Ned's sweaty hand.

Peter hadn't bothered to wrap it, he didn't think it was necessary considering he was wearing a hoodie. If he did, they wouldn't be stuck in a situation like this. He could have blamed it on an injury from the motel. Out in the open, it's obvious that the cuts were determined and self-inflicted. They were vertical and could have killed him if his body hadn't adapted back with his normal powers. Peter wonders if he'd be dead if he hadn't eaten that Thai last night and regained his strength. The cuts were merely fresh scars, all pink and fleshy. Peter was afraid they wouldn't fade completely.

"No," Peter settles with finally. "They're old."

"Bullshit!"

Peter flinches at that, flashes of Ray's drunken face at the four front of his mind. He was always yelling; yellow, barred teeth on display to remind the boy that he hadn't brushed his teeth in four months. Even after all the things that claimed his mouth and made a hole inside- he could never get clean again. 

Ned's grip tightens and he can't getaway.

"It's true. I wouldn't lie about this- not to you. Ever. Be-Besides, what does it matter anyway? My powers are back and I'm healing again. I'll be fine."

"That is totally not the point, dude," Ned releases Peter's arm gently and put his head in his hands. The sudden realization that he was the cause of the bags beneath Ned's eyes hit him like a freight train. Just as he was the most promising factor to Tony's obvious insomnia, he had yet again ruined someone he loved. Now, it seemed as though the whole world was worried about him, even people he had never met before. Peter was getting letters from random people wishing him the beat in his recovering simply because he had been dubbed "Tony Stark's Son" and plastered on every news bulletin in America. "That fact that you did it at all means you need help. Why didn’t you tell anybody? It's okay to not be okay, Peter." The boy ignores this. 

In actuality, there was nothing to be worried about!

Peter was- and always had been- fine. He was determined to make everyone else realize this too (and maybe, along the way, convince himself a little more). It seemed as though the more he said it, the more confidently it left his mouth. 

"I don’t need to talk to anyone, Ned. I'm fine." 

He'd need to work on that. 

"Are you sure? You don't seem like it," Ned's face contorted into a frown and Peter felt a chubby hand glide and clutch his own bony structure. The boy's thumb delicately traced Peter's knuckles. "You don't feel okay."

Tears flowed hesitantly down Ned's face and Peter couldn't have felt more iniquitous.

"Don't cry, Ned. I promise I'm right as rain," His voice was so emotionless and empty, not even Peter could convince himself that he was better. "You can ask Tony if you care that much."

"Of course I care, Peter. How couldn’t I? You’re my best friend and it hurts to see you like this, y’ know. I lost you once and finally got you back. I don’t need to lose you forever.”

”You won’t. I’m the same as I was before.”

“If you are and if what you're saying is true- you're okay- then he'll let you go to Flash Thompson's party over spring break, right? He'd even encourage you like he used to," Ned had him by the throat. There was no way Tony would I even fathom the idea of Peter going somewhere alone and without any adult supervision. And there was no way he could convince his father that he was even the slightest bit okay between now and the party. 

But he'd be damned if he didn't try.

"He will."

All the confidence Peter could mutter came out in those two utterly worthless words. In actuality, Tony won't, but with permission or not, Peter's going to that party. No one could stop him. No one. For months, he wasn't alive (that's what it felt like at least) and he was determined to make up for the lost time. 

If that meant lying, just call him Richard Nixon.

Ned's glare softened.

"Pinky promise?" He said suddenly, in all seriousness. His chubby pinky was poised high and threateningly at Peter's face, not afraid to mock ten-year-old them from the past, who though pinky promises meant the whole world and a bag of chips. It was so juvenile, yet comforting in away. It felt as if he hadn't spent his whole life with handcuffs digging into his wrists (there was still a scar, so it was hard to defer between which were self-inflicted, and which were pathetically bestowed upon him). As his pinky linked with Ned's it didn't feel as though he belonged to someone else. That's what it felt like, entirely. "I'd make you swear on your life but... I'll let you off the hook this time. You've been through enough."

"Preach." Peter snickered and considered this the first step in his make-shift recovery. Humor. People who are over things laugh about it, right? After extensive research (ten minutes and an ever-inclusive google search), Peter had come to the conclusion that dark humor was in fact, a valuable coping mechanism, though a bit crude. Now, he wasn't the funniest person, that was evident by his ever-growing science pun t-shirt collection, so in the long run, it might not have been the safest choice. But no one ever said Peter was a smart kid (except, maybe, everyone except himself). 

Ned finishes snickering and clicks to the next page in the module before freezing. 

He breathes in one last time before, "You know I'm here if you ever want to talk, dude. And so is Mj."

Peter nodded silently and typed in a short answer to his assignment before attaching the file and turning it in. He placed his hands in his lap and laid back in the hard chair. Adjusting his sleeping uncomfortably as he felt Ned's stare, Peter cleared his throat and fought tooth and nail to come up with a rebuttal. He was never good at emotional conversations like this. It was interactions like these that made him wonder if he was even fit to be a part of society anymore. 

A part of him says no, that he's too far gone to be anywhere close to normal. That may be true.

The media believes it. 

That's evident by the many news bulletins labeling Tony Stark's son as a 'whore' and a 'prostitute' without knowing all the facts first. They hadn't even stopped to consider the fact that he had been kidnapped and a victim of human trafficking before labeling him as something he definitely wasn't. They didn't mention the handcuffs or the bloody mattress, the fact that Peter had been found chained up, broken and suffering from malnutrition. And they certainly didn't mention Ray's exploded head. In a way, transitioning from being considered someone's object, a possession, to being an actual, functioning member of society was something he hadn't quite grasped yet. He still stuttered around adults, taking the long way to avoid being near someone he didn't know, or grasping into Ned's arm in the hall in case one of the teachers decided to snatch him up from the hallway and haul him off. He had been assured by his counselor that stuff like that couldn't and wouldn't happen, but Peter didn't see it impossible. Not even close.

Speaking of Michelle... it seemed as though she was actively avoiding Peter. 

Just yesterday she had watched him approach her that morning, then left without a single glance to talk to these girls she had met in AP Art. She didn’t show up at lunch (once again, those dreaded art kids) and walked right passed their usual meeting spot by their lockers and went straight for the car line. 

Ned has told him not to worry, that he was just having a difficult time processing this, but Peter couldn’t help but think that Mj was disgusted with him. 

She had expressed her views on sex in high school very early on. Aka, she thought it was disgusting and didn’t need a man touching her body when she could do it herself. Sure, she had been attacked to boys and even girls all throughout school, but she would never act on it and certainly wouldn’t give up her virginity for some stinky boy. That was a given at this point. And so, part of Peter what’s to believe that this is all his fault, for making her think he was a whore. 

That arose another question.

Could boys be whores?

He’d heard of man-whores before, but he had always assumed they were nothing more than fuck-boys. The last thing he wanted was to be known as one of those. And while he had nothing against gay people, the continuous notes written outside his locker every morning labeling him a “faggot” caused him to avoid Ned for three days straight in fear that people thought they were dating and would harass the other boy. He’s afraid the other kids can see the permanent scars on his wrists from the handcuffs, or the bruises that would take weeks, maybe even months to fade. And let it be known he hadn’t come potes a full year of physical education, and there were too many steps involved to get him out of it. He refused to let Tony do anything more than what he already had done. Which was, to say the least, way more than enough.

His father had already shut down twenty-seven news stations who advertised lies in their stories about Peter. 

All those people out of jobs... for him.

Who was he? 

Peter was no one in the eyes of the public. He was no celebrity, he was simply a celebrity’s thing. And while he loved Tony with all his heart and thought of him as the beat father form New York to LA, it was obvious that no matter how hard he tried, he’d still be nothing more than a Stark’s possession. Legally, anyway. 

So, all in all, there was at least one thing that didn’t change on his arrival home. 

The bullying- that was the second thing. One would think Flash would see this as a point where Peter’s limit had been reached. But now, it was simply overstepping the line every day without a care because, oh, poor Flash Thompson isn’t the best decathlon participant. Or, Peter always gets recognition for being a moral person, let me fuck up his life. It had been made blatantly clear that none of what happened bothered Flash any, and if it did, he wouldn’t bother to show it. 

As of now, he had Ned.

Tony was still there, but Peter’s sweaty, nervous hands were causing him to slip away. Soon, he’d be all alone.

That was the last thing he needed right now. As much as he liked to pretend he had moved on, it truly scared him of what he was capable of when presented with loneliness, an empty playing field and no one to drag him away from it. Anyone would be scared when your kids are constantly telling you that you’re no good for anything but sexual interaction and making money for some low-life. But in his mind, Ray was anything but that. He was his everything. His source of food and water, his only source of companionship when he was drunk and cried into Peter’s sticky body before going out to look for more clients. It was nice, in away. A break from the constant pain. It felt good to know someone else was hurting too. 

Peter shifts his head to Ned’s screen and sees that he’s four pages ahead of where he was ten minutes ago. 

He looks at the page 03.04 and looks down the computer mouse. 

Move, he tells his hand. It defiantly stays where it is and no matter how hard he tries to raise the limb, the weight increases. He suddenly feels the need to cry. Move, he wails in his head. You’re falling behind. They’re leaving you. Peter stares at the computer screen, seemingly okay, but fighting a (losing) internal battle. Ned does his work, as he had done all those months Peter was gone. Like it was normal to be missing your best friend to rapists and drug dealers. 

“I know.”

Peter and Ned stay in that position until Tony comes to pick them up at five-thirty. 

The man pulls up in a Rolls Royce, not his favorite and obviously the last choice, but regal and expensive nonetheless. Probably the least showy car he owned aside from the van he gifted to Happy for whatever reason. Clouds look over the sky like a thick blanket. It takes a sky full of grey to make Peter realize how much he’s missed the sun burning his pale body. 

Ned grabs his arm when Peter doesn’t realize 

“Hey, boys,” The billionaire greeted. Ned mumbles a polite _Hello, How Are You?_ And shuffled into the back seat. Peter numbly came in after him, nearly forgetting to shut them down. He laid his head on Ned’s shoulder and closed his eyes until everything he saw was traumatizing black. Darkness he was so used to, he hardly even noticed the difference between the day and the night- it was all the same. Stark looked through the rearview mirror at the chubby boy, who merely shook his head and gestures to the slowly dissociating boy on his shoulder. If the father could look any more exhausted, he flipped the switch in a millisecond and looked halfway to death, proving Ned wrong. He never thought someone could look so drained. “Are you staying for dinner, Ted?”

“Ned-“

“Ah, right. Sorry, kid.”

_Kid_. Tony had a new kid. Who knew such a small, insignificant, universal word could trigger such jealousy in such a little body. Despite the itch in the back of his throat begging him to scream and shout and demand that he be the only child in Tony’s life, he can’t help but swallow it down. What else was his father supposed to do other than replace him 

“No worries. But, uh, my mom wants me home for dinner. She’s trying a new recipe and you know how she is,” With that, the boy lets out a real laugh. The most genuine laugh Peter has heard from him since he had gotten back. Tony laughs too, throws his head back and shake sit back and forth like he was remembering the good ole’ days. Just when the lean boy thinks the fit of glee is over, Ned starts back up again after seemingly remembering something that has to do with the previous joke. As if reading his mind, Tony practically chokes on his own throat laughing so hard. Peter wants to know what’s so funny.

“That woman is a hoot, isn’t she? You’ll have to invite her over for dinner sometime soon, Pepper missed her cooking. And- fuck- so do I.”

And Peter wants to know when his family met Ned’s.

And he wants to know why he isn’t included in the joke or told what the hell was going on.

It hits him, then, that he has no say in what he gets to no and what is kept secret. He hadn’t been there after all, why does he have to know? Just like how he had inside jokes with people that they didn’t know about, they had one hat flew right over his head. So why did it bother him so much? Peter, though not even knowing the true story, wishes he were there when they had met and had dinner together. Ned’s mother was a glorious woman and he could only imaginée how well she’d get along with the Stark’s.

It was a shame he’d never know and a shame-...

That he was too stupid to be there for his friends and family. 

But he has a new goal now, right? This one will work, and even if it did backfire in his face like a canon turned the opposite way, he’d still try again. Once, a few months before everything, they had done a lab in his bologna class where they had to complete a Dichotomous Key with jellybeans, and taste them to see if they were correct in following the directions based on the candies appearance. Peter doesn’t like jellybeans. And so, he faked his answers. One was correct, the next wasn’t and so on and so forth. He got a perfect score. If he had learned anything from biology class and stupid jellybeans it was...

Fake it ‘till you make it. 

And _that_ is how Peter made his life infinitely worse. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you all so much. I’m really trying to get back into writing more after taking a long break so I hope you guys all enjoy it. I worked hard. I’ve been having a rough couple of weeks so this is kind of my escape from all the stress of school, soccer and life in general. You guys are my rock. 
> 
> If you enjoyed this chapter, feel free to comment, leave kudos and save for later! Love you lots- lmc <3


	3. What Would Beyonce Do?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter can't find a balance. He doesn't even know which is better: pretending to be happy when he’s truly sad or pretending to be happy when he can't feel anything at all. Numbness, he learns rather quickly, is not the remedy to an incurable pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took so long to write for absolutely no reason lol. I’m so sorry, guys!! Please forgive me. 
> 
> Warnings:  
> -Mentions of Prescription Drugs   
> -References to Depression/Anxiety  
> -Slight Reference to Rape/Non-Con (barely viable)

Peter is prescribed an antidepressant and two mood stabilizers.

When handed those small orange bottles, he thinks for a long moment that maybe he won't have to fake his well-being as he originally planned. Maybe these would work and he'd go to Flash's party with confidence that he'd return home without a single scratch. One gulp of water later and Peter gained a newfound hope he hadn't felt in months. Years even.

For the first time ever, he was ready to branch away from the grief that held him down like a chain forged from Tungsten (he only knew that term due to a rather hard chemistry lesson).

He was ready to be happy again.

But as Margaret Mitchell once said, "Life's under no obligation to give us what we expect."

So, when a week goes by and color begins to fade from his vision, he wonders what was real and what may have just been a sick and twisted apparition of his imagination. There was no more sadness, no more pain, and the dirt had seemingly disappeared into thin air. It had been great at first. He had been feeling like crap for so long that the break, even if it were a long-awaited one, was nothing short of extraordinary. Peter was able to look at his past and laugh at himself for ever believing he couldn't move on from something like that. And to think he was Spider-Man. Super-heroes weren't ever scared, obviously, and looking back, he had been just one huge wuss! At night, when thinking back to all his fear, he let out a chuckle and fell asleep without nightmares for once in five weeks.

Then, the next week came.

There was nothing. No happiness, no anger, no excitement. It seemed like day in and day out nothing changed by the clothes he wore and what he read at school. His mind was a barren wasteland and completely and without fail, he couldn't hold a conversation. Hell, he could barely even remember memories from his captivity. 

Ned would sip his juice and discuss Star Wars theories while Peter listened with deaf ears.

“Listened" was used lightly as the boy couldn't remember a single word that left his friend's mouth. Vaguely, he thinks his Peer Counseling teacher wouldn't be proud of this. But in a way, it was easier to hoax a feeling of merriment when there was no feeling at all. He'd smile when he saw the cue to, laugh when he assumed something was funny and he'd even crack a joke to keep up the charade. It felt right in away, like he was lents to feel happiness after all this crap happened to him. Almost like he deserved it. Everything was going to plan....

Omitting his appetite.

Peter assumed it had something to do with the wack medication they gave prescribed him. He was either so starving, it hurt to walk, or so nauseous he'd spend hours in the bathroom regurgitating nothing but stomach acid. Tony wouldn't know about this- that was a given- but the teen had to admit that it was getting harder and harder to hide his dissatisfaction with his diet as of late. And it always seemed that when he was starving beyond the meaning of the word, they'd have something light and lean for dinner, but when he was second away from spilling his guts, they'd have the heaviest, thickest metal known to man. There was never a happy medium.

So, with the grumbling in his stomach signaling the fall of the day, Peter says at the dining table at a loss for what to do.

He needed to vomit. Worse than he ever had before. Every comment he'd eaten that day felt like a rock in his gut, weighing him down and threatening to rip his skin if he didn't let it out. Every bite was hell. The room was so incredibly hot, he was sweating as though he had just run a mile. He felt like it too!

Tony and Pepper were chatting away over some business deal and barley noticed Peter's spacey look.

He was lucky the others hadn't bothered to visits in awhile. They'd know if something was wrong. He had no doubt that Tony or Pepper would figure it out eventually, but for now, he was trying his best to avoid showing any obvious signs that he was being something. This was his first mistake.

"Peter?" He heard his name, but something told him not to answer. Whenever these little thoughts would pop up, he couldn’t trace them back to a source. Something- whatever it was- wanted him not to answer, and he was going to listen to it. Why not? What did he have to lose? His dignity? His reputation? Those were already tarnished, and without his personality, he was nothing. And empty shell. "Peter. Are you okay, kid?”

"Yes," Peter smiles, making sure not to over-exaggerate that expression. It was enough to be reassuring. "Sorry, I was just thinking."

Tony sent Pepper a fond look, and for a brief moment, Peter feels normal. 

"About what, bud?" Tony snickered, leaning back and patting his stomach with an exhausted groan. Peter started at the up and coming beer-belly on his father and let a true smile deep through his facade. He thought it was real, at least. It felt real. Tony would never let himself retain a dad-bod. It was all abs or nothing. "It's getting hard to guess nowadays."

The boy laughed at that and missed his father's surprised face. Maybe that wasn't something he shouldn't have found funny. 

"Nothing, just..." Peter shook his head. "Nothing."

"No, tell us, Petey. We want to know all the- the tea. High school has the beta gossip and you bet Tony and I live for that stuff," Pepper cheered giddily, clapping her hands quietly before taking a sip of wine delicately. Always delicately, never forcefully. She nudged Tony and sent him a wink. He smiled back and Peter watched the display in confusion.

"Tell us, kid. We'll listen."

At that, Peter thinks momentarily about spilling his guts, telling them that the medication is doing the opposite of what he wanted (which was to feel something again). But then he reminds himself that the whole point was to lie to them. It had only been two days since the situation with Ned and if he failed now, it would only prove what a pathetic excuse for a human he was. If there was anything he could control, it would be this. He'd be damned if he didn't at least try.

"Flash Thompson's annual party is next week."

Silence resonates over the table and Peter knows he's fucked up behind repair. He shuts his eyes and clamps his hands over one another and squeezes hard enough to break the skin. Nails digging into his palm, he hopes for blood to spill.

"And you wanted to go?" Tony asks softly.

The boy nods quietly and despite all the odds and the emotionless expression he's had for days, tears begin to form in the eyes. He feels pathetic.

"Just once. To this one party. Please, Tony. Please, dad, I just want to do something normal for once," In a rare act of cruelty, Peter pulls the Dad-Card knowing Tony can't resist and will have no choice but to cave in and say yes. All the lies and deception and pain he's caused, and Peter has the audacity to use something like this on his own father. Typical, he thinks. Typical of you to hurt to avoid being hurt, Peter, he growls to himself. Fuck you. "I'm feeling so much better, Dad. It's like it never even happened."

"But it did," The billionaire assured quietly, eyes looking dead into Peter's soul. They go right through him. "You can't act like it never did, sweetheart."

"I'm not," Peter defended, no real bitterness behind his words as he had no anger left to release. No sadness, either, he remembers. Or happiness. The boy cleared his throat and grips his thin thighs with an unknown strength. "But, Ned is going to be there. And MJ. Nothing can happen to me if I'm safe and you know me- I'm always safe, maybe even overly cautious.I want to forget, Dad. Even if it's just for a few hours."

Tony's gaze doesn't waver.

Peter's afraid that the man can read his mind and catch up one very single lie that comes his way. Inwardly, he hopes the man is just too stupid to see anything wrong. He's not- definitely not- but the hoe is still there and that's all that mattered.

"I'll think about it," He looks toward the ginger and unbeknownst to Peter, grabs her hand tightly. "We'll think about it."

That's enough for now, Peter tells himself. The party isn't for a week and judging by the amount of distance he's covered in one conversation, he doesn't think it'll take much longer to sway Tony to the dark side. God, how he missed Star Wars. The boy nods and reminds himself to watch every Star award movie three times over before the end of the week to help make up for all the time he couldn't do so.

"Thank you."

It's quiet again, and the teen goes back to picking away at his plate, appetite gone.

Tony's eyes bare into him and it takes all his willpower not to meet his eyes and enter a vicious staring contest. Peter settles with a sideways glance which scares the older male off. He feels powerful. The hero's sake eyes drift to Pepper but the young boy finds that the woman doesn't know what to do. They both look lost and the boy can practically feel the clogs in their minds whirring. Deviancy slowly creeps into Peter's head and as if he knew Tony was waiting for him to take a bite, he puts his fork down gingerly.

He settles for water instead. In fact, he downs the whole galas in one gulp, his stomach successfully satisfied with the way the liquid made him feel full. As if that water were enough to nurture him back to his ripped, lean body like he was before.

Full was a loaded word. It lured Peter in with sparkling images and glittering promises, but when it finally came, it didn't make out to be what was advertised. It was crying constantly, unable to wash the phantom touch of a person who isn't even alive anymore. And "full" is screaming at his generous parents who do nothing but love him because the internal rage was too much to conceal for more than a few days. That horrible word- full- was staring at himself in the mirror, pinching his stomach and thighs with the background knowledge that they like him better skinny- they won't hurt him as much if he looks the part. But simultaneously poking at his hip bones and ribs and flinching back at how prominent they are, which makes him feel weak.

Peter doesn't even know if he wants to feel again.

"Pepper slaved over that dinner, Pete. Why don't you show some love and eat it so we can go to sleep? Big day tomorrow," That didn't sound good.

"Why?" The boy sniffed and looked up.

"We're meeting with a lawyer. A good one. And, with your permission, they're going to bring some of those people who... hurt you to court. There was a lot of evidence at the scene, it was just contaminated and most of it was unusable b-but not all of it! They found a-at least ten people."

Unlike the many other times he had tried to pry Peter to represent himself in court, he feels nothing about it this time. It's not that he doesn't care (he's slowly starting to realize that he does), it's just that he realizes nothing could really go wrong. They had evidence. Evidence that no one, even the most "Boys can't be raped" kinda guy can't deny. Peter knows this and he's done pretending that it doesn't hurt him to know that other people are out there, suffering in the same ways he had. No doubt their pain will last much longer than his if he doesn't do something to put a stop to it. But at the end of the day, he was one kid against thousands of insane adults.

He goes over every possibility in his head and come to the conclusion that, in fact, a lot of things can happen. Or, go wrong he supposed.

"Okay. We can do that."

"That's fine, Pete. We get that you're not ready for- wait. What?" Tony sputtered to a stop with buggy-brown eyes. It's so comical, Peter is tempted to laugh for a few seconds there. The humor vanished a few short moments later, however, and the grey undertone that overtook his world yet again. "You don't-... you're okay with this?"

"Sure, I mean, why not? Something good might come out of it," Peter shrugged and missed Tony's smile.

The man grabbed his arm; Peter internally screams; external Peter smiles with watery lips. Fake, fake, fake, he tells himself. You're nothing but a fake. All you do is lie and cheat and go behind people's backs. "You don't care" is bullshit and everyone knows it. You care more than you should. More than anyone.

“Wow," Tony mused to himself. 

"What?" Peter stifles a frown, his face unable to mimic the emotion. But what emotion was he meant to feel? It was all clouded inside his brain, and no matter how many nights he spent thinking over his life, attempting to motivate himself and get over what happened, he finds it nearly impossible. He's sure other people in the same position barely even think about it after the first month. So, why couldn't he just forget about it?

Tony smiles proudly and par a large hand on his son's back. Peter huffed, but he wasn't put off by his touch as he had been when he first arrived home. It was safe to say, he learned that he wouldn't be hurt with his family. Never against

"You're just doing good, Pete. Can't stress it enough: you've been doing great recently. The whole team can see it."

The team was irreverent to him right now. He loved them but it didn't matter anymore.

They were rarely around anymore. It was typical- everyone had more important things to do than wait around for some kid to get better. For one, Clint had his own family to tend to, and two children that definitely took up more space in his heart than Peter ever would. Thor went lord knows where, some far off place to get himself together before returning to the tower, saying he needed some time to himself for whatever reason. Natasha had to return to SHEILD for a mission she was unable to disclose, and her departure left a hole in Peter's existence. Steve returned to his apartment in the city but promised to visit whenever he could. Wanda, Vision, and Sam disappeared without a goodbye. Bruce remained in his lab all day every day, and Peter thinks vaguely, that he is depressed.

That makes two of us, he shrugs.

But, no. He isn't depressed. He swears he isn't and he will stand by that. Peter is fine and has been fine this whole time. For Tony, he would be okay as long as he needed it.

“The team isn't even here," Peter whispers so his father can just barely hear him. His voice trails off at the end, only realizing how rude he sounded halfway through the sentence. He kept his lips shut tight as if a zipper had connected them together to keep anything else from coming out. Hopefully, something he would regret. Small fingers fiddle with a loose string on his sweatpants, a lump forming in his throat. "I don't need them to be."

Tony awkwardly smacked his lips as if he were dehydrated. Peter handy even noticed that Pepper had up and left the room altogether. 

"You shouldn’t be angry at them, kid. They'll be back and visiting before you even know it. Besides, Bruce is still here and all your friends. So, you shouldn't worry."

"I'm not worrying."

"Oh," The man cleared his throat and avoided Peter's intense gaze. It was the teen's goal to make someone as uncomfortable as possible during confrontations like this. Anything to help him cope with the humiliation he had been feeling for months now. He didn't want to hurt people, in fact, he wanted to do the exact opposite and help as a true hero. Like Spider-Man. A small section of his brain tells him that he can never be Spider-Man again; he'll be too weak, emotionally and physically, and he'll never have the same drive or motivation as he did previously. And Peter couldn't help but agree. "You know if you ever need to talk about anything- anything at all- I'm right here. Okay?"

Peter suddenly felt anger rise within his lungs.

"Everyone says that. Why is everyone saying that?!" Anger. So, that's what it was to feel something again. Mind turning blank, the boy blinked once, twice and a third time before he realized that he no longer felt rage. It was empty again. A white space of nothingness. "I do-don't need to talk about anything. Everything's been going so great, Dad, you have no idea how good I've been lately. It's like it never even happened. My grades are back up, my friends are happy and back to normal, and I feel like I can live without holding my breath or avoiding people until I learn to trust them. I feel safe, for once, like nothing can hurt me. I don't need to talk."

Lies. Aunt May told him never to fib, as it will always turn against you in some way, shape or form. Whether it be in the present or the future, a lie will always come back with a vengeance. Don't ever fib, she said the day he lied about the grade he got on his math test. Fibbing will only hurt you, right, bub? Do you understand?

Yes, May, Peter whispered internally to the sky. He doesn't even know if she who there (or if anyone is). But for once, I can't follow your rules.

"That sounds great, Pete, it really does! But I can't help from thinking that you're not... telling the truth. Safe place and all that jazz, kid. I know you don’t like when people talk all patronizing to you, but to be honest, I-I don’t really know how to talk to you any other way. I’m a fraud of scaring you, kiddo. So, you gotta talk to me. Just say anything; anything at all and I’ll be happy,” Peter wasn’t afraid anymore. And though he still locked his room at night and refused to take his boxers off while showering, he wasn’t scared necessarily, simply nervous. With the majority of his strength and powers back, he assumed that if anyone were to attempt to hurt him, he could fight back with ease. The boy doesn’t even know how long it’s been until he hears Tony sigh and lay his head in his hands. “Please, kid. Talk.”

Peter does talk then. Nothing Tony wants to hear about, but it’s something.

“I got a note in my locker today from Flash inviting me to his party. I think he only gave it to me out of pity, but when I saw him during lunch, he just stared at me and didn’t come over. Ned and Michelle got an invite too. I really want to go, Dad. I feel normal for once, and I actually think it’ll be good for me,” Peter’s voice feigns hopefulness. In actuality, he doesn’t really want to go to a party full of drunk, sweaty teens and bad music. It hit too close to home. However, with a leading voice and a pair of full, yet convincing eyes, he’s able to excite a smirk from his adoptive father. “Nothing bad will happen. My friends will be there, I won’t drink and I can take care of myself now. There’s no reason not to go.”

“I said I’ll think about it. I’m not entirely comfortable with leaving you alone with a group of people. I made that mistake before and I swore I would never do it again. Look what happened because of it.”

Peter continues to talk. 

All night about irrelevant things, his mouth never stops moving. In fact, by the end of the night, his mouth is dry and his jaw aches deeply with every movement. He doesn’t talk about anything serious, and certainly nothing Tony was looking for, but the man sat and listened the whole time while munching away on ice cream and occasionally golfing towards the movie on the television. They don’t even realize how long they’ve been up until Bruce comes walking in at five in the morning, pajama-clad and looking for tea. 

He stared at the two, and they start back, but he smiles. They do the same. 

“I’m tired,” Peter says suddenly with a cheeky smirk.

“Oh, whatever shall we do?” Tony threw a pillow the teen’s face, which was effectively blocked and thrown right back. Peter rolled his eyes and stood with a stretch. 

“Who knows?”

Bruce, silent since he had arrived, finally opened his mouth and uttered quiet words Peter would think about for the rest of his life. 

“Well, wanna know what I do when I’m unsure about something,” Bruce suddenly smiled and a sneaking suspicion that sketching out of the ordinary was about to happen slowly entered Peter’s mind. For a moment, his heart began to race. Bruce knew the two were joking about being clueless instead of just going to bed, but if made for a great one-loner

“What?” They asked simultaneously.

“I ask myself: What would Beyoncé do?”

Peter has never laughed harder. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this over a styrofoam container of mall Chinese food and a liter of Mountain Dew. I haven’t been doing that well as of late, but getting emails of your guy’s comments and kudos really makes me smile. I love you all so much you have no idea. I’m so thankful. Thank you- you guys keep me alive. 
> 
> Feel free to comment, leave kudos and save for later. Love you lots- lmc <3


	4. Miss Feel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter has an epiphany about school; Miss Feel is deemed irrelevant; an old friend shows Peter he is worth more than he thinks, and he realizes he may have bitten off more than he can chew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to a new chapter! This one took FOREVER to write, I’m so so so sorry!
> 
> Warnings:  
> -Mentions of Insomnia   
> -Mention of kidnapping   
> -Description of Suicide

Class had been boring before, but now, class was unbearable. School, in general, was inching closer to a living hell every day that passed. Of course, Peter wouldn't admit this because school has always been his favorite place- learning was something he always saw as extraordinary and worth it in the end. It definitely helped that he was naturally a bright kid and picked up on topics quickly. In a way, he was simply deflecting the whole problem and attempting to convince himself that he was, in fact, still enjoying school.

The problem being: school was no longer fun.

Waking up at six in the morning had never been his favorite part. Now, however, waking up at noon was just as difficult, so one can only imagine what it felt like to pry himself from his warm, bed (his only source of comfort) and go to the harsh, chill of school.

It didn't help that the whole school was essentially beating around the bush at his expense.

Tony Stark's Adopted Son Kidnapped at Charity Gala! And eventually: Billionaire Tony Stark's Son Finally Found After Four Months!

Everyone (and by everyone, Peter assumed the whole world at this point) knew about what happened. News spread quickly, especially when no one was there to stop it from doing so. Pepper had tried her best, but there was only so much she could do before news bulletins had the poor kid's face plastered everywhere. At first, it had been a real surprise. If it hadn't been Peter's on every news sight in the country, he would have felt some remorse, or thought "Hey, y' know what? That's shitty of someone to do to a poor kid. Why the hell would they post something like that?" And move on in life.

But now he realizes that people can be horrible.

No one was worse than Ray, he reminds himself when he ponders how a person could be so evil. There will always be someone else- someone crazier, someone eviler, someone happier, someone more successful. There is always someone a step above. Peter tells himself this when he's proud of being the smartest kid in school. He will never be the best. He wasn't before and he definitely won't be now that he's been broken down to such a level, he isn't sure he'll ever come back. He's not even sure he wants to.

Class drones on forever. The clock ticks by, but oh so slowly. What feels like an hour was really only ten minutes, and the hand won the clock seem to be frozen in time. The boy sucks his lip and breathes out. Five minutes until Miss Feel comes around.

Five minutes until he's out of this hell. 

His shoe taps feverishly against the tile, dirt, and dust from the unkept floor dispersing in ways too small for him to notice. His knee bumps against the bottom of the desk, just nearly missing a piece of chewing gum left there from the class before. Still wet and sticky. Lamely, he runs a hand through his hair, blunt nails creeping along his scalp. It grounds him. The same nails that brought suck pleasure cast down on him suddenly, his one nails breaching crescent holes in his skin. The pain grounds him as well. Much better than the scratching does. It comes to him momentarily that his counselor will see the marks and call Tony, but that's the least of his worries. All that mattered now was avoiding the echoing "tick-tock" from the clock. Cursing his super hearing, Peter brought his hands around his ears to cup them protectively, determined to keep the sound out. Flash throws a paper at his back and simultaneously, his clothes feel three sizes too small and they itch uncontrollably. His socks filter between his toes, his jeans squeeze every cut across his thighs and his shirt constricts around his lungs and ribs. 

A gentle hand comes to rest on his shoulder, but the touch feels like fire burning his skin into charred remains. Ray's busted head. That's what he feels like. Ray's head, concaving in from the bullets. 

"Stop that," A small feminine voice pulls Peter from his thoughts. Ray's bloodied remains disappear from his imagination (for now). "Don't ever let me see you don't that again, or I'll have you written up, young man. You should be grateful I even give you a warning. Now, where was I? Oh, Peter. Peter, honey, it's time to go."

The teen's eyes open and it's like he's entered a new world. 

Beside him stands Miss Feel, small body clad in a polka-dotted dress and heeled sandals. Her auburn hair was made up into a messy bun, and for whatever reason, it reminded him of Pepper. He doesn't feel so alone anymore, and without a word, Peter stood and gathered his stuff without a second thought. All he wanted was to get out of this death trap, even though her office wasn't much better due to limiting the decorations (you can never trust unstable children, the principal had said, his wording utterly horrible). Peter was out the door before Miss Feel could ever open her mouth. 

Once in the cool, open halls, Peter felt as if he could breathe again. The air was colder, crisper, and didn't smell like sweaty teenagers. His clothes seemed to stretch until he didn't even notice they were on him. 

Miss Feel was hot on his trail. 

"Peter?" Her voice gets drowned out by Peter's overactive thoughts. He doesn't want to talk today. He had nothing to talk about. The days were all blurred into one dismal week, preened with nights full of his sobs and nightmares that still plagued his mind when the sun decided to leave him. The boy had taken a liking to the sun after not seeing it for so long or only feeling it's natural warmth through the thin, ripped curtains of the motel room. So, when he got home from school, his leg would bounce with anticipation in the car as he yearned to feel the sun's rays once more. He's rush to the patio, backpack and all, and choose to do his homework there, where he can feel his skin burning and turning a bubbling, blistering red. It was worth it though, just to feel the sun again. 

Tony would need up going out with him when the sun began to go down, and sit with him on the patio chairs to keep him company after being alone for so long. Peter wouldn't ever saying anything unless the older man initiated it, but that was rare. 

"Can we go outside?" His voice is steady, surprising both himself and the counselor. 

The sun is calling his name. 

"Of course." 

The two make their way to the courtyard, Peter a few steps ahead, eager to meet the sun as quickly as possible. It was so cold in the hallway, and to be honest, it wasn't much warmer outside, the main difference was where the light was coming from. The sun beat fluorescent lighting any day. The second he opened that door, it was as if fifty pounds of weight were lifted off his shoulders and chest. Finally, he could breathe. 

And luckily, the sun wasn't hidden behind clouds, which made it that much better. 

Peter bathed in it like a lizard on a hot summer's day. 

That was, until, Miss Feel's voice interrupted his tanning session. Very rudely, if Peter does say so himself. Her delicate hand once again last on her shoulder and bam! She forgets herself. He shrugged her off and her wide eyes realize that she had touched him without asking or without good reason (a good reason being: calming him down from a panic attack). The young teen takes an odd sort of pride in knowing she messed up, and for a moment he considers freaking out just to spite her. Then, he remembers that this woman doesn't deserve it, she's trying her best. The urge doesn't go away. 

They decide to sit on the from steps of the courtyard- well, Peter does, Miss Feel just follows along. 

"Aren't you hot?" She prompts gently. Peter can't even describe her voice, it's too sweet, too different from what he's used too. Miss Feel- Miss Cristina Feel- could not survive what he did. "It sure is a warm day. That's odd." 

It is unusually warm. 

Peter is done with side characters. He wants Tony. Someone who matters, not Miss Feel who has a stupid name and doesn't know how to talk to children despite the plaque encasing her degree that sat proudly on her bland wall. She keeps sacking her lips to fill the awkward silence and it takes al Peter's willpower not to turn around and slap the bright red lipstick off her small lips.

"I want to take online school."

A lump forms in his throat before he can ever get the full sentence out. This was a horrible idea...

"Why's that?" Side character #5 says with great interest. How could a middle-aged woman with two children and no spouse possibly care about what a fifteen-year-old loser was feeling? Sure, it was her job, but the way her eyes lit up scared Peter. It was the same way Tony's eyes would. They cared for him. And not just because he was earning them an extra buck or two through unconventional ways. Painful ways.

"I feel more comfortable at home."

"What about your friends? You always say how you love to see them. If you take school online, you won't see them as often."

"That's okay. I can call them, and they can always come over to my house. And besides, my grades have been slipping since I started school again and I think it'll just be better for me to do it at my own pace and on my own- my own space. And-and it's nothing against the school system! I swear! I'm sure everyone's doing their best to be comforting and whatnot. But... there's only so much they can do, y' know? I have nothing against them."

Miss Feel doesn't answer, only sucks her lip and scans the surrounding area. Her chapped lips smack as if she's dehydrated, but the metal coffee cup in her hand suggests otherwise. Who knows, maybe it's all for show? Maybe there is no coffee.

"Well, I'll bring it up to your parents- ehm- your-"

"Parents."

"Right, sorry. I'll call your parents today and see what they have to say about it. To be honest, it doesn't seem like a bad idea at this point."

Peter is it nods his head and determined that he doesn't want to go home today. And to think all he wanted for months was to be with his family, in his bed, and now, all he wanted to do was getaway. He couldn't help it, the place was suffocating in a strange sort of way.

Suffocating, he laughed quietly to himself as he walked by himself back to his class. Practically the biggest building in New York... suffocating. You really are going off the deep end, Peter. 

Three more hours past with the same laziness until the afternoon announcements came on and the students were released. The crowds were never appealing to the teen. They weren't before he was kidnapped and they certainly weren't now. It always crossed his mind that in the heard of exhausted, sweaty teens, his disappearance could almost go unnoticed (especially since even the smartest kids happened to be completely clueless or absolutely mindless). It occurred to him that anything could happen, really, if Ray had decided to make a last-minute call to one of his colleagues to get back at Peter. Ray had always said that the boy should feel better about himself considering so many people wanted him and were willing to pay over fifty dollars for just an hour alone with him. At the time, with his mind altered or constantly high and he thought for a split second, that it was flattering. 

Now, obviously, he sees how sick that seems.

He rushes through the back doors before Ned and Michelle could even find him (not that Mj was looking, she had been acting off lately). He was aware that what he was doing was stupid and would totally get him in trouble, but just the thought of going home was unbearable. 

Sneaking past the deans, he found his way back towards his old apartment once making it to the back streets. Peter enjoyed visiting, if only just to look at the outside and admire the rotting brick and rickety fire escape. Even in the winter, when the snow no longer cast a beautiful blanket over his home. When he looked at the building (building, not home) in the winter now, it was just a dismal, hollow shell of what used to be a loving place. It was no longer comforting. 

Turning away from the desolate walls, the boy began his trek back. That was, until, an unfamiliar shop caught his eyes. He knew every inch of Queens, from both being Spider-Man and just being a regular teenager. And that shop- the stupid, fucking shop- didn't appear anywhere in his safe of memories. 

It hits him like a truck.

Mr. Delmar's destroyed corner shop had been transformed into a 7-Eleven

The most disrespectful of things to turn Mr. Delmar's pride and joy had replaced one of the few places that brought Peter joy. The bright lights holding up the 7-Eleven sigh mocked the kid in a similar way Ray's did. Haunting. 

His eyes traveled over to the opposite side of the street. 

That's when he sees it. Slightly- just barely- the sight makes him feel better ("slightly" as he won't admit to himself that the sight made his heart jump for joy). A little corner store shop sits at the corner diagonal to him, with no big flashy lights or signs.The only way he knows it's open, or who owns it is the fact that the door was open. Welcoming, as always.

Mr. Delmar, Peter thought gleefully. He forgets about the constant buzzing of his phone in his back pocket. 

The boy practically ran across the street, oblivious to the beeping card and almost-collisions he caused in his excitement. All he could think about was Mr. Delmar's bright smile, and his gentle cat and stupid little gummy bears. Knowing he had yet another player on his side meant Michelle's abandonment didn't hurt as much. Still, Peter missed her face and hoped she would stick around with him during Flash's party. He had almost forgotten about that. 

The thought of being normal again shot a spark of electricity through his body.

Peter entered their store with a big exhale of breath. And boom! There he was in the flesh. A man Peter hadn't seen in months but desperately had wanted to. The man was making a sandwich, rather slowly the teen noticed, and without his usual smile on his face. Peter made it his job to put a smile on that wrinkled face. 

"Mr. Delmar!" The old man's head shot up at the voice, a grin spreading on his lips. "H-Hey, hi!"

“Ah, Peter. Son, come in! Come over to me, my boy," Peter practically runs up to the counter, not at all bothered by the fact that it doesn't look like the old shop. In fact, he agreed that the change was good and the new shop did look a lot fresher. Not uncharacteristically, Mr. Delmar's tan hand came to rest on Peter's cheek, as if he were his own son. It reminded the boy a lot of Tony. The old man's eyes began to fill with tears. "It's been a long time, Peter. I thought you'd never come back..."

“Of course I'd come back! What, you think I'd just leave you? Nah, I'm tougher than that. Besides, I is it thought I'd stop by before heading home; it's been a while."

Mr. Delmar just smiled at that and packaged up the sandwich he had been making before handing it over the counter to the boy. Peter politely declined, saying he had no money on him, but that didn't slide and the boy ended up getting the sandwich (which happened to be made just the way he liked it after he learned Mr. Delmar has been making them every day in case Peter ever came back), a water, and a pack of gummies for free.

The teen looked around in the silence as the older man pulled out the materials to make his own sandwich.

"Where's...?"

Silence followed, haunting and horribly traumatizing. So quiet, his ears created white-noise just to substitute for the absence of stimuli. There was no cat laying on the counter, basking against the warmth of the meat cellar and relishing under each custom were gentle pats.

"She was an old cat."

That's all Mr. Delmar said.

Peter sat down at one of the many small tables and held his head on his hands, afraid to look up and meet the empty space where the fluffy cat used to reside. Instead, he opened up his sandwich and stared at the pressed bread, a bite on his tongue, but his brain telling him that he didn't deserve to eat the food. Not when a cat has died.

The shop owner went around the counter, sandwich in hand, and closed the door to his shop, flipping the small sign to 'closed'. He then made his way towards the boy, who was skin and bones and sat across from him.

"I'm sorry," Peter whispers softly.

"No need, son. Things like this happen. I'm just god you're back home safe and sound because I don't know what I'd do without you. I was so broken about the cat, I had forgotten you completely until a week later when you hadn't visited me and it hit me! I hadn't seen you in at least a month! That wasn't very like you so I tried calling Stark Industries- worst idea of my life, they didn't believe me when I said I knew you. Anyway, I eventually saw on the news that you had gone missing and that search parties were going to stop looking soon... I couldn't even fathom the thought. So, I waited a while to see if you'd turn up, because, well, with Tony Stark as your guardian there was no way you'd be missing for long. But... you were."

“It wasn't his fault," Peter is quick to say, knowing the deep rage building in Mr. Delmar's eyes were silently accusing Tony for not finding him quicker. "I don't blame him whatsoever. It was my fault, to begin with, and things happen, y' know? Maybe this was skit something the Avengers couldn't help."

The old man takes a bite of his sandwich but doesn't seem to enjoy it.

"It wasn't your fault. Nothing ever is."

"That's not true."

He doesn't answer, simply lets his eyes travel around the small space before settling on the empty space where the cat used to lay and occasionally meow quietly for attention. One of his children is already dead. He's glad Peter isn't either. 

"Does your father know you're here?"

Suddenly, the buzzing in his pocket feels like an earthquake. Peter ripped his phone out, immediately answer the call (which happen to be the twenty-first). He greeted the other line and was met with the same string of questions.

Where are you?

Are you okay?

Why didn't you come to the car?

Who're you with?

What are you doing?

Peter, well aware of his furious Tony was, answered the questions honestly and without hesitation. He'd been getting in trouble a lot recently, so this wasn't much to a surprise to him anymore. The man said he'd be around in ten minutes, to which the boy reluctantly agreed to. He wishes he could stay in this little shop forever. 

"Trouble in paradise?"

Peter smirk and nodded, pocketing his cell phone before finally taking a bite of his sandwich. 

"I kinda ran off after school. Not my finest decisions."

"Mm," Mr. Delmar hummed, finishing off his food before taking it back behind the counter to clean for later. He sighed and stared at the young boy, who stared back with a small smile of his face. "You never did make the best decisions. You're Aunt used to rant to me all the time back when you were just a babe. You were a good kid- too good."

“Aunt May would be disappointed in me. I-I mean she wouldn't let me get away with anything when I was younger. She knew that I knew better than to make a mess and not clean up after myself if you know what I mean. She wouldn't blame me, I don't think. Just disappointed that I let it control my life so much afterward. The first few weeks back were... hell, to put it kindly.”

“That’s understandable, son. Many would not survive what you have, and that fact alone makes you the strongest kid- no! The strongest person I know. You always have been.”

Peter smiles and took a bite from his sandwich when none other than Tony Stark opened the front door (despite the closed sign, since nothing really could keep Tony from getting to his son).

“Peter!”

“Tony, hi,” The boy offered a watery smile. Mr. Delmar grunted softly, protective instincts kicking in in case Tony decided to argue Peter’s decision to run off. In all honesty, Peter agreed wholeheartedly that he deserved to get in trouble. After all, running away from the same man that had to wait for you to be found after being kidnapped seemed cruel. “I- uh, this is Mr. Delmar.”

“I know who he is, kid. We’ve gone here before,” agony looked towards Mr. Delmar, realizing it was rude to ignore the man in his own shop. “Thanks for watching him, Mr. Delmar. And sorry for the trouble. He’s a little twerp.”

Peter flinched over-dramatically as his father faux punched him. The man followed suit with a grin, and the boy was just glad that there were no hard feelings over the whole situation, no matter how much he knew he should have been punished. The oldest male in the room laughed heartedly and came around the counter to engulf Tony in a warm hug, which definitely was a surprise considering whether or not a stranger hated Tony Stark was always 50/50. 

“Not a problem at all. He’s a good boy, very considerate. You should be very happy to have him as a son.”

“Trust me,” Tony said quietly despite knowing Peter could definitely hear with or without super hearing. He shuffled over slightly and smiled when Peter turned away and pretended to be interested in his food. Eavesdropping was never one of the boy’s strong suits. “I am.”

The three talked as if they had been lifelong friends and Peter was the same age as the two, not a teenager. That was all the boy wanted: to be treated fairly. The older men didn’t hold back on curse words, or dirty jokes, or comments rated R. It was like he belonged, finally, and the thought of being abandoned like he originally thought he would be wasn’t as prominent. Still there, but the backdrop of a much bigger screen.

“Alrighty, this has been fun but Pepper has a surprise for us at home. Thanks for having us, Mr. Delmar. You’re a great man.”

“Please, Tony, only a special type of man can raise a boy like Peter. Don’t flatter me. Have a nice night and Peter? Don’t run off again. I’m pretty sure your father nearly had a coronary.”

Waking to the car, Peter allowed Tony’s shoulder to bump against his own with every step. It seemed like a rather father/son thing to do, the boy thought as he remembered the many movies he watched with the same cliche. It felt nice to feel the normality again. The ride home was quiet, but not silent, and that was fine with both parties. Soon, they were pulling up to the tower, blasting some old 2000’s song that Peter couldn’t have remembered since he was younger. 

Pepper was easy to find, sitting on the bar stools typing away at a hologram with a quirk of her lips. 

“Oh, beautiful, Paprika! My darling! We have arrived,” Tony sang as he tossed his shoes to the side and wrapped his arms around the ginger’s waist. The woman rolled her eyes playfully and pressed a small kiss to her lover’s bearded chin. “And Squirt is ready to hear the news.”

Pepper giggled with excitement and stood on her heeled feet. 

“Good news, Pete. The executives at The Daily Bugle asked to have an interview with you about your experiences with human trafficking and sexual assault in males. I know it’s still a sensitive topic, Peter, and I’d never makes you do something you weren’t comfortable with, but I think this would be good for you. We think it could help a lot of people struggling the same way you are. It’s all up to you, bud.”

The world slowly halted and Peter’s mind raced with possibilities. ‘What if’s’ entered his mind and made their home at the forefront. A loss of pros and cons formed themselves naturally before the teen could even ponder the thong of telling someone of what he experienced. He was even doubting if it would help any. Peter knew kids, he was around them every day, and he also knew that they don’t like to listen. Peter, not unlike other teens, had the same drive to rebel against the authorities just to excite a reaction. The only difference between Peter and the others was that he felt so incredibly bad afterward. All he wanted was to make his family proud, and the second he did something he wasn’t supposed to, it felt as if everyone, even his ancestors, were looking at him with disappointment. With that in mind, he realized that making his parents proud started with excepting this offer, no matter how hesitant he was about it.

“Okay.”

“Okay? Like, actually?” Tong smiled.

“Yeah, I, uh, think it’ll do me some good.”

“Y’know what, kid. Despite your little disappearing act earlier, I think you deserve something for all you’ve gone through. You can go to Flash’s party, so long as you follow a set of rules we’ll cook up. We want you to be safe, but there’s no harm in having fun. Sound good?”

“No way! Really? Oh my gosh, thank you so much, dad. You won’t regret this, I promise!” Peter rushed forward and enveloped Tony in a bone-crushing hug, snuggling his face into the crook of the man’s neck. “I love you so, so much.”

“I love you too, kiddo.”

It isn’t until 1:30 in the morning, as Peter’s growing insomnia keeps him awake and pacing, that he realizes something important.

He’s way in over his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’all I got plans for this story. I’m so excited to see them play out! Also, little note here: I got a comment on a different story saying I didn’t know how to write dialogue (if you’re the person who commented pm the prequel to this, I’m not taking about you) and I just wanted to say I’m really sorry. I’m not good at writing dialogue. I will try to get better, I promise.
> 
> Happy reading! 
> 
> Feel free to comment, leave kudos and save for later! Lots of love- lmc <3


	5. Author’s Note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quick author’s note about the continuation of this story.

Hey, everyone! Lara here! I just wanted to let you all know that I’m thinking about deleting this story. I have a lot of ideas for it and I was very excited to showcase them all to my audience. Unfortunately, I also have many other ideas for separate stories. I didn’t want to overwhelm myself by publishing a few stories at once because I’m already busy with school and soccer. 

One the other hand... I have other works I would like to put out, so come visit once and awhile to see if they’re out.   
  


This story will probably be deleted by Monday or Tuesday, depending on feedback from you guys. I’m sorry if I disappointed some of you. I was also getting some hate from both this story and the original, so it made me very unmotivated.

Please stick around for more stories to come!

I love you all 3000 (and then some). Have an amazing day, stay healthy!!! Don’t get the Corona!!!   
  


Edit 3/29/2020: Little update, after all the support in the comments following this note, I decided to keep this story up. If anyone takes inspiration from it I’d be ecstatic, and you don’t have to credit me if you don’t want to. I didn’t even take this into consideration until someone mentioned it. Also, over the years I’ve gotten into some new fandoms and I was wondering if anyone here would be interested in stories from them. If not, disregard!!!

I was thinking of making stories for “Stars Align” (An anime I highly recommend even though it’s only one season long and probably won’t be continued), “Big Windup” (Another anime I love with my whole heart), and “IT” (my favorite horror movie). Let me know what you all think!

P.S. you can watch “Stars Align” and “Big Windup” on Hulu but I’m not sure for Netflix. I don’t think “IT” is on Hulu. Recommend me some fandom-worthy shows/movies I’d you’d like!

**Author's Note:**

> I have another fic coming out called “The Art of Solidarity”. It’s another kidnapping story, but very different from “Just a Kid” so don’t worry. It should be out in the next week or so. Love you all more than life I self!!!- lmc <3


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